


Signs

by Selenic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge, Sad, unknown dead character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenic/pseuds/Selenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She worked in silence, reading the signs as they were uncovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sga_Saturday, week #120-122, prompt 'sign'
> 
> This is not my happiest story. But I was told, that sometimes you have to let the story take a path that I might disagree with. This time, to challenge myself, I let that happen. Thank you to [zoemathemata](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemathemata/pseuds/zoemathemata) and [Kimber](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimber/pseuds/Kimber), and the whole Squee Weekend team, for their encouragement and inspiration.
> 
> Original post [on the comm](http://sga-saturday.livejournal.com/146268.html), crossposted [on my LJ](http://selenic76.livejournal.com/21918.html)

 

Signs

 

She worked in silence, reading the signs as they were uncovered.

Carefully removing the clothing, scissors struggling to cut the fabric of his uniform that had been made stiff by dried mud and blood, she worked her way around the pockets. One of them would hold a memory of home, something familiar to carry with you as you ventured into the unknown. She mentally catalogued every visible bruise, scrape and wound, every mark marring the pale skin, for future scrutiny.

The last to go were the dog tags around his neck, as cold as the rest of him had become. The man looked so young—to her, most of them did. The crinkles around his eyes told he had been a person who had laughed a lot. She knew he had a name, but it was information she only passed on to her report, and didn’t linger on. Other things were more important; her job was not to remember, but to observe, analyze, and interpret.

She took the first set of pictures, and gathered samples of things she wanted to examine more thoroughly later on in the lab. Then she wiped him clean, cautiously, reverently. Dark, dry stains melted and trickled down his skin in small rivulets that slowly turned clear as she worked to reveal the details hidden beneath. Old faded scars, symbols that the medical history translated into stories of courage and survival, were just as meaningful to her as the three livid streaks with strange perforated patterns at his side that were most likely to be the thing that had ended the final chapter of the young man’s life. Another series of photographs, the last documentation of his form as it was.

After turning on the recorder, she picked up the scalpel, but then stopped.

“Forgive me,” she whispered quietly, the sound of it barely reaching the ears that no longer could hear.

The first incision was always the hardest, but years had taken away the hesitation of her youth. Methodically, with practiced precision, she took him apart, knowing it might bring her one step closer to the truth, and saving the others. And if her voice at times wavered while she dictated each step of her process, her hands never did. 

 

~~~ End ~~~

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Working With A Purpose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369509) by [squidgie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/pseuds/squidgie)




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